


Light Pollution

by NohrianxScum



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ableism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Death, Dysfunctional Family, Horror, Humor, Implied handholding, Little a crack as a treat, Murder, No canon characters were harmed in the making of this fic, Not a braincell in sight, Other, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NohrianxScum/pseuds/NohrianxScum
Summary: Tim has a brush with an entity, and finds it absolutely de-light-ful. Sasha craves coffee. Elias has a horrible morning. Someone died.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker
Comments: 21
Kudos: 75





	1. Season 1

Sasha only wanted to get herself a cup of coffee in the staff room to make the wait between her morning coffee and lunch coffee easier to bear. The sounds coming from within, however, suggested that if she entered the room, she’d find herself in A Situation. Mainly because she could distinctly hear Rosie, in equal parts anxious and thrilled, saying “we’re going either to hell or HR for this”.

“The only hell I know is a world without your smile.”

And _that_ would be Tim. Sasha already had her hand on the door handle, but that gave her a pause. Were they about to get inappropriate in the staff room? She checked her watch. She could give them three minutes to get it over with, but she was pretty sure she didn’t lock her computer before leaving, and she wouldn’t want to explain to Elias why she was browsing LinkedIn and DeviantArt simultaneously during work hours.

She knocked at the door, waited fifteen seconds and entered. “Pause the innuendo, I crave bean juice.”

“Nothing to pause, I’m afraid,” Tim responded, hunched over his notebook.

Sasha stared bleakly at the row of mugs on the shelf. Hers had gone missing, again. In the place of her favourite mug was a different one, with a tacky picture of a circus tent.

“Then why are you two going to hell? Did you go to the Disney website without parental consent again?”

“We’re not monsters, Sasha. I’m running a little friendly office betting pool. Wanna join?”

“Elias will skin you if he finds out about this. And you know he _will_ find out about this.”

“Oh, he placed his bet last week already. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Rosie handed Tim a tenner, shot Sasha an apologetic smile and left them alone. Sasha sat next to Tim and peered over his shoulder. “What are we betting on?”

“Jon and Martin.”

She took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Like what? That Jon’s going to try and murder Martin this year?”

“That’s a popular choice. Some people have their money on them getting together too.”

“I already regret asking, but… Elias?”

Tim glanced at the screen. _Lord, he even has a colour-coded spreadsheet, what the fuck._

“Well, that one is kind of creepy, but he insisted. He bet that they’re going to get together and _then_ get each other killed in a freaky and tragic incident. I guess the divorce hit him harder than he’d like to admit.”

“Great! Thank you! I didn’t want to know any of this!”

The door opened again. Tim hastily switched from the spreadsheet to the Wikipedia homepage. “Jon! So nice of you to leave your castle of screams and join us.”

The head archivist blinked, as if he just noticed there were other human beings in the building and wasn’t quite sure he agreed with the concept. Then his eyes narrowed slightly. “Wikipedia is not a reliable academic source, Ma- _Tim_.”

“The articles I’ve written certainly aren’t,” Tim said with a grin. “What law can I break for you today, boss?”

“I need one of you to check one address.” He set his cane against the table and sank into a chair opposite Tim and Sasha. “I found a statement with a note by Gertrude. It says ‘monitor further developments’ and while I personally doubt it’s worth our time, it is of some interest that the statement mentions a familiar name. Robert Smirke.”

Tim’s smile faltered. “I’ll get to it right away.”

Jon nodded and turned his attention to Sasha. He could be a real prick, but he had lovely eyes – warm and dark, with amber spots. Too bad he’d need at least twenty of those to make up for certain aspects of his personality. “Sasha?”

“Yes?”

“Why on earth were you looking up pictures of people buying Wonder Bread?”

  
  


* * *

_Statement of Stephanie Czerny regarding a house in Belgravia. Original statement given 16 th May, 2001. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. _

_Statement begins._

_Close your eyes and list off ten things that you could find in a kitchen. There’s a sink, of course, and an oven. Perhaps a dishwasher. If you’ve got an eye for detail, you might remember to imagine oven mitts and a couple of dish towels. You almost certainly didn’t think of lamps. Why would you? Light isn’t something you notice unless you’re deprived of it._

_When I first came across the flat that would become my home for the following year, I was overjoyed. It was beautiful, it was in a great neighbourhood and it was dirt cheap._

  
  


Tim stopped in front of the house, his hands stuck in his pockets, and whistled in appreciation. That was a Smirke, all right. He’d recognise the architect’s touch anywhere, even though the owner of the building was perfectly happy to let ivy and dog rose take root and tenderly strangle the old house.

Although it was a hot summer afternoon, light seemed to descend more gently on the greenery. Tim took a deep breath and headed towards the door.

  
  


_I met with the couple that was renting the flat straight away. Richard Vega and his wife, Jennifer. They seemed nice, in that wannabe artist kind of way, and initially, I had no reason to suspect there was anything fishy going on. Jennifer and I went along famously and I guess that’s what made me ignore some… things I shouldn’t have ignored._

_Richard was always wearing dark sunglasses. At first I thought he was just that kind of an asshole. Later, he explained that he was unusually sensitive to light. A hereditary affliction, he said, and I had no reason to question it._

_I didn’t know they had a daughter until three months into living there._

  
  


Tim pressed the intercom buzzer for the Vega family and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Then he turned around, ready to leave, but was possessed by that mildly awkward feeling that as soon as he’d leave, someone would answer him and so he kept waiting.

Then a sleepy voice came from the intercom. “Who’s there?”

“Is that Ms Vega? I’m Tim Stoker, from the Architecture Appreciation Association and I was wondering if I could have a couple of questions about this house.”

“That doesn’t sound like a real organisation.” A moment of silence. “Do come in.”

  
  


_Two months passed and I had no complaints about my new flat, other than that my lightbulbs often exploded and the ones that didn’t never lasted nearly as long as I expected. So what? Old houses have their quirks._

_I learnt to keep some candles in every room._

_Jennifer and I became friends. There wasn’t a week when we wouldn’t meet up for cake and chat in a nearby café. Never in the house._

_At the end of my second month with them, I noticed a change in my new friend. By the beginning of the third month, I found the courage to ask her about it._

“ _It’s Richard,” she confessed._

“ _An affair?”_

“ _What? No!” Jennifer seemed genuinely appalled by the suggestion. “Why would you say that?”_

_I just shrugged and avoided her eyes. This conversation wasn’t about_ my _tragic backstory. She buried her face in her hands and for a moment, there was silence._

“ _His… condition has gotten worse. I don’t know how much more I can take.” A little, choked-up sob escaped her throat. I put my hand on her elbow. She left it there. “It used to be manageable. Now he can’t even leave the house. I’m not living with Richard, I’m living with his illness.” She took a deep breath. “Am I selfish for saying that?”_

“ _It must be hard for you. Not being able to help, I mean.”_

“ _It’s mostly Ann I’m worried about.”_

“ _Ann?”_

“ _Ann. Andromeda. Our daughter. She inherited the... family curse.” She sniffled and started rummaging through her handbag for tissues. “I knew the risk was there but I guess I didn’t fully realise what it entailed. And now I look at Richard and have to wonder if living like that is even worth it.”_

  
  


The house was cool, dark and quiet. A welcome change after the sweltering heat drowning London that summer. The only awful thing Tim noted was the absence of a lift as he climbed to the top floor. He couldn’t fathom why did Gertrude – and Jon – see the need to do a follow-up on that statement. To him, it just looked like a run-of-the-mill ableism-flavoured tragedy.

Ms Vega was already waiting for him at the door. Unless her maiden name was Gray, it couldn’t be Jennifer. The woman that greeted him was young and pretty, in that doomed Romantic kind of way. She was short, and the oversized cardigan draped around her shoulders made her seem even smaller. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and the dark circles under her blue eyes stood out like bruises.

“Thank you for seeing me. Again, I’m Timothy Stoker, from the Architecture Appreciation Association. Pleased to meet you.”

“It sounds even faker the second time,” she replied. “Call me Andy.”

“The Association may be not exist in the conventional sense of the word, but my interest is very real, Andy.”

She gave him a distracted smile and glanced over her shoulder. “I have some old photos of the house without the greenery, if you’re interested. Though, if you have any questions, I won’t be of much help. Never really cared about these things much.”

“I’d love to.”

The door closed behind them without making a noise.

  
  


_Soon after that conversation, I met Andromeda for the first time. Jennifer had an emergency at work, Richard was recovering from an attack of his illness, and another babysitter from a long string of babysitters couldn’t be reached – it made sense that Jennifer asked me to keep an eye on the child for an evening. She was a friend, she wasn’t asking much and so… what else was I to do?_

_The child was asleep already._

_All I had to do was to stay in the living room while she slept, in case she woke up and needed something._

“ _Just keep the lights off,” Jennifer told me, halfway out of the door. “Light makes her… uncomfortable.”_

_I made myself at home on the couch. It felt strange. Their flat was just above mine, but I never really got to take a good look at it. The blackout curtains plunged the flat into darkness, so all I could see properly were my hands._

_To be honest, I dozed off myself._

_I was woken up by a scream coming from Ann’s room. I rushed towards her, expecting… I don’t know. A kidnapper? Not sure who’d bother kidnapping her._

_The curtains in her room were open and she was sitting on the windowsill, her face pressed against the glass._

“ _What’s wrong, sweetie?” I asked._

“ _The sky,” she stammered out, rubbing her eyes furiously. “The sky is on fire.”_

_And really, from the window I saw the orange glow of light pollution all around, aeroplanes glittering in the sky and sickly yellow lamps bordering the street outside. With some imagination the city itself appeared to be ablaze._

_Uncomfortable, huh?_

_I picked her up – to her, I must’ve been just another temporary babysitter – and let her weep into my shoulder until she tired herself out and fell asleep once more. I tucked her in, closed the curtains and went back into the living room._

_Richard was waiting for me there._

  
  


  
  


Tim was seated in the living room with a glass of lemonade while Andromeda searched for the photos. The flat was dark, lit by the dim light of a single lamp next to the couch, but it felt cosy. A hastily folded blanket and cushion on one side of the couch suggested his visit woke her up from a mid-afternoon nap. The air was still heavy with sleep.

As far as follow-up investigations went, that was one of the nicer ones. Then again, the gross cases had a tendency to show up on Martin’s to-do pile. Like that worm thing. Tim made a mental note to text him about it later, since he was still on sick leave.

The woman handed him a small stack of old photos. “That’s all I found, sorry. Are you with the Institute?”

He took great care to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “Institute?”

“The Magnus Institute. There was this elderly woman who’d show up and ask questions about my parents every now and then. It’s been a while. Is she retired?”

“Mrs Robinson? Yes, couldn’t be more retired. But how did you know that I was from the Institute?”

She sat next to him and gingerly touched his elbow. “I have this extraordinary power.”

Tim blinked, almost expecting a boss theme to start playing in the background. “Really?”

Andy looked him in the eyes. “Yes. It’s called reading. Your lanyard is hanging out.” Then she dissolved into laughter. “I wish you could see your face right now.”

Tim replied with a grin of his own. “All right, that one’s on me. I came to snoop. Please, blame my bosses, they’re dicks.”

“Oh, I will do that,” she said cheerfully. Then, she shook her head, the good mood gone in an instant. “It’s about that neighbour we had, right? I don’t remember her much, but she’s had it out for our family ever since my dad died.”

“Any idea why she would have a problem with you?”

Andy looked down, playing with the hem of her sleeve. “Not really. I was five when my dad died. He was very ill and that woman… she was a weirdo. My mum would probably tell you more, but she passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“We weren’t close.”

  
  


_Richard seemed furious. Call it intuition, call it paranoia, but in that instant I was sure he’d hurt me. He growled something inaudible. I asked him to repeat himself, making sure to keep the couch between us._

“ _What did you do to my little girl?” he spat out._

“ _Nothing, she’s fine, she just got a little spooked, that’s all.”_

“ _You let her see the light.”_

“ _Only for a moment. It was an accident.”_

“ _We_ trusted _you!”_

_The darkness… I don’t know how to describe it. It grew thicker. More substantial. Solid. I heard Richard’s laboured breathing in front of me and also something else. A regular, echoing rhythm, like the beating of a monstrous heart._

_The sound was all around me._

_My fingers brushed against something. A familiar shape. I could weep – it was a lamp._

_A horrible premonition seized me. I turned the light on. It illuminated Richard’s face – for the first time since I’ve met him, he wasn’t wearing sunglasses. I don’t know why that’s the thing I remember with such clarity. I saw his eyes._

_I saw his eyes as the light passed through him, leaving gaping holes in place of flesh._

_I see his eyes every time I try to close mine._

_Please, turn the light off. It hurts me so._

_Statement ends._

  
  


  
  


After Tim looked over the photos, there was nothing left for him to do. Frankly, he didn’t understand the purpose of that all – there was nobody left who could remember what had happened, the house, although designed by Smirke, seemed perfectly ordinary and talking to Andromeda, while pleasant, didn’t shed any light on the situation.

He glanced at her as she was distractedly playing with her hair, curling and uncurling a black lock on her finger while he ranted about his shitty bosses.

He fell silent.

She caught his gaze, smiled, reached over and turned off the light.

Such a lovely way to waste a summer afternoon.

  
  


  
  


* * *

  
  


The next day, Tim’s excellent mood wasn’t dampened even by the fact he had to go to work and he was fully prepared to make that everyone’s problem.

Except he couldn’t find Jon. The head archivist was usually the first to come and the last to leave, so the only thing that could delay his workaholic ass was death. Tim hoped Martin didn’t kill Jon. He’d lose a lot of money if that was the case.

It was half past nine when Elias showed up, looking like a mess. A distraught mess. His tie was crooked, the individual pieces of his suit didn’t match, and each of his cufflinks was wildly different.

_That’s what you get for wearing cufflinks,_ _you pretentious asshole,_ Tim thought to himself.

“You okay, boss?” he asked carefully.

“Yes, thank you. There was a small… power outage at my place. Very inconvenient.”

No sooner had Elias finished speaking than the door burst open and Jon stormed in. Tim took one look at him and burst out laughing. The head archivist was sporting a half-decent stubble, with the emphasis on the _half_ part. That is to say, one half of his face was clean shaven while the other one very much wasn’t.

Tim leaned back in his seat and, to Elias’ disgust, put his feet on the table. “A bold fashion statement, but you make it work.”

“All the lightbulbs in my flat exploded when I was getting ready.”

What a sight to behold.


	2. Season 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Jennifer Vega, regarding her daughter’s birthday party and subsequent death. Recorded direct from subject, 29th January, 2012.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea, I caved and decided to add some more Content to this, because I'm still not over Vegas. If you're in any way sensitive to... really, really dysfunctional families, perhaps skip this one. Enjoy responsibly and keep your lights on.

“Tim? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Absolutely not,” Tim said cheerfully, already getting up from his desk. “What’s up?”

The tight line of Jon’s mouth struck him as unusually tense, even for… well, Jon. “In my office, please.”

Was he getting fired? Was it about those trousers that exposed his ankles? Elias did give him weird looks when he wore those, but he didn’t seem to disapprove. And at any rate, Tim couldn’t recall doing anything particularly scandalous in the past week. Not knowing – the unknowing, if you will – was always the worst part of being asked into his superior’s office, even though Jon was less of a snotty superior and more of a garden variety prick in need of a therapist. Despite that, Tim still liked him well enough, in all the HR-approved ways.

Jon sank into his chair and propped his cane against his desk. The desk was almost tidy for once, not a single empty mug in sight. Martin probably didn’t get to making him his hot leaf soup yet, and the head archivistnever seemed to remember to make it for himself.

Jon looked at him and sighed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Am I being fired?”

“What? No! What made you think… ah. I probably did. Sorry. I have some questions about one thing you did a follow-up on recently. The one about the house in Belgravia. The Smirke one.”

Tim blinked, then his face split into a smile. “That one, I remember now. What about it?”

“You told me you talked to the current owner, miss A. Vega. Can you confirm that?”

“Yes. She was nice. Very nice.”

There was an awkward pause. Then Jon’s eyes widened slightly. “Tim. What the _fuck_.”

He just shrugged. Whatever conclusions Jon came to were his own problem. The fact that they were absolutely correct didn’t enter into it. “People have lives outside of work, I know, it’s tragic. But what’s the problem, boss?”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. “I found a related statement. I don’t know who the person you talked to was, but it couldn’t have been miss Vega, because according to this, she died in 2012. Her mother came to deliver the statement.”

“What? No. That’s just impossible.”

“I’m afraid that the limits of what’s possible have been stretched recently.”

“I think I would’ve noticed _talking_ to a ghost. You trust me, right?”

Jon didn’t answer, but he averted his eyes, looking down at the tape between them. Tim blinked, then shook his head in disbelief.

“Are you for real, Jon?” He said that louder than he intended. Jon flinched, as if struck.

“Forgive me for trying to solve a mystery. I forgot that’s not what we’re supposed to do here.”

“Leave that sarcasm for someone who might care for it.” He got up on his feet and stamped towards the door, then stopped, his hand on the door handle. When he spoke up, he didn’t look at Jon. Couldn’t. “How did she die?”

Jon licked his lips. “I don’t know. I only listened to the beginning before I went to you. I thought you’d want to know.” He looked ill and Tim wondered how he didn’t notice before. There were circles under his dark, dark eyes, as if he hadn’t slept ever since…

Well, ever since Prentiss.

His eyes carried a feverish glow at odds with the brittle angles that made up his face. A man tortured. By what demons Tim could only guess. A man possessed. By what, he didn’t dare to imagine.

“I don’t think right now is a good time to say I’m worried about you.”

“Do you want to listen to it?”

“With you?”

“If you can bear my presence,” Jon said grinning, although both of them knew he meant that a little too seriously. “Maybe it will help you remember something.”

  
  


  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


“ _Statement of Jennifer Vega, regarding her daughter’s birthday party and subsequent death. Recorded direct from subject, 29 th January, 2012. Statement begins.”_

  
  


The voice on the tape belonged to a woman. She spoke with the ease of someone who had said similar words countless times before. An older woman, certainly, but her voice was clear and steady.

“Is that…?”

“Gertrude Robinson. Yes.”

  
  


“ _Mrs Vega, if you could...”_

“ _Please, don’t make me say it.”_

“ _I don’t need to remind you it was you who came to me.”_

“ _Where else was I to go?”_

  
  


The other voice also belonged to a woman. Younger than Gertrude, as far as Tim could judge. There was a strange, tight quality to Jennifer Vega’s voice, as if she wasn’t accustomed to speaking aloud, much like her daughter.

He heard something suspiciously close to a choked sob from the recorder and he doubted it came from the former head archivist.

“Andy… Miss Vega mentioned her mother had passed away,” Tim said quickly. Jon nodded, but didn’t seem to be paying much attention to anything other than the audio recording and so he pulled out his phone instead, so that he could take notes if anything occurred to him.

  
  


“ _Tell me what happened.”_

“ _I killed my daughter. I don’t know whether that’s the start or the end of it. Both options are equally terrible._

_I could never see myself as the heroic type, least of all now. Maybe I made everything worse. Maybe none of what I’ve done will make any difference and this is somehow the worst of all the possible endings._

_I suppose now it is time for me to say she made me do it, but that would be a lie. I was in full possession of my faculties when I decided she needed to die._

_A family curse. It sounds so quaint, doesn’t it? Richard – my husband – and I used to laugh about it. But he’s dead and I’m not laughing._

_Perhaps she’d ask me to do it, if she understood the full consequences of what she was becoming. You have to understand, I lived with Richard and his last year was nothing but suffering. I miss my husband. I’ve missed him long before he died. And I suppose I should miss her too, but, to my knowledge, he was never a danger to those around him, like our daughter was._

_Well, Richard’s daughter, really.”_

“ _What do you mean?”_

“ _There’s this strange thing about children. I always thought that a child would have something from both parents. At least a little thing. A smile. Eye colour. Laugh. I used to hate it when all relatives would gather around a newborn and start to argue who the baby looks like. It’s a baby. It looks like pudding, if it looks like anything at all._

_Now I kind of get it._

_I gave birth to her, but I swear there is nothing in her that I would recognise as mine. It’s obvious Richard was her father, but who the other parent is, I do not know. It must’ve been me, but I find it... difficult to accept.”_

“ _Is that why you killed her?”_

“ _No, I’m not a monster._

_Do you have children, Ms Robinson? I don’t think you do. I wouldn’t have to explain, if you did. No offence, but it’s unlikely you’d be responsible for your subordinates turning into monstrosities. It’s different when it’s your child.”_

“ _That’s beside the point. What were you planning to tell the police?”_

“ _I wasn’t planning to survive. Despite what you may think, I’m not stupid. Well, that’s not fair. I am stupid, tragically stupid, but not stupid enough to do this without a plan._

_There have been… accidents. That’s probably what interests you. Ever since Ann was a toddler, it was impossible to keep any babysitter for more than a week or two. Given her condition, she required very specific care. It wasn’t the matter of cost. That’s one thing I suppose I should be grateful for. If I had to raise a monster, at least I had the money to do so comfortably.”_

“ _Is there a point to all this, Ms Vega?”_

“ _I want you to understand that I am not delusional before I go any further.”_

“ _This is not a matter of whether or not I believe that.”_

  
  


There was a pause. Tim glanced at his boss, but as far as he could tell, the office around them ceased to exist for him. His eyes were fixed at the recorder, unblinking. The way his eyes lit up almost eclipsed all that was worn out and spiritless about him those past few weeks. It occurred to Tim that the Magnus Institute succeeded where the worms did not. The work consumed him and it would soon devour him whole. That sudden, superstitious fear raised the hair at the back of Tim’s neck, even if he’d struggle to explain it.

Then Ms Vega’s voice sounded again, this time more raspy and somewhat clipped.

  
  


“ _It’s the house. After Richard’s death, I could hardly stay there, but at least I didn’t have to stay inside like Ann._

_You know, there were times when I thought about how if, perhaps, she could be confined to the house, away from needless excitement, things would be fine. You’d be surprised what you can get away with as long as you keep your paperwork is in order. Homeschooling is a hassle, but there are places where you can get plenty of help and resources from other well-meaning parents, as long as you don’t let it slip that you vaccinate.”_

“ _Not even Amherst thought this one would work so well.”_

“ _What?”_

“ _Nothing. Continue.”_

“ _We had several au pairs over the years. Those lasted longer than regular babysitters, though that may be because I got surprisingly good at stealing and hiding passports. Don’t look so scandalised. It was necessary._

_I went back to work, just so I’d have an excuse to get out and every time I returned to the house, the darkness inside grew thicker, like black treacle. The house became overgrown with ivy and climbing roses that choked out whatever little light still made it inside. I can’t stand the scent of roses._

_It happened in summer._

_The new au pair arrived two days ago. I don’t think she understood English very well, but I preferred it that way. And she seemed to like Ann well enough. I got home early that afternoon, tiptoeing upstairs so the tenants on the first floor wouldn’t bother me about fixing the light fittings again. It wouldn’t last. They’d move out soon enough. Everyone did. I was about to unlock the door when I heard a loud crash. I opened the door and rushed to the living room. I turned on the light and what I saw made no sense._

_Ann was standing in front of the window, trying to close the curtains while facing away from the window. Sunlight poured in, illuminating her face. She was crying._

_The other girl just stood there frozen on the spot, mute and stupid and useless.”_

“ _Didn’t you tell her about your daughter’s condition?”_

“ _Sure I did.”_

  
  


Tim nudged Jon’s hand with his own to get his attention. He tensed up, but other than that, he didn’t react and so the assistant reached over and paused the recording. Only then did Jon look at him, dazed, as if forcibly awakened from a trance.

“Maybe she didn’t understand when Ms Vega told her. If any of this is true.”

“That is a possible explanation.” The head archivist ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you all right, Tim?”

He opened his mouth. Then he closed it again without a word, and pressed the play button.

  
  


“ _What happened then?”_

“ _Ann closed the curtains. It couldn’t be more than a few seconds, but I could already see her face and hands growing red and breaking out in painful blisters. Then the lights exploded. The living room was plunged into darkness so solid I could feel it slipping through my fingers, like loose silk. And then there was the sound._

_A regular, echoing rhythm, like the beating of a monstrous heart._

_A choked sob came from where the au pair had been standing. Poor cow didn’t even understand what was going on, I imagine._

_Someone screamed at Ann to cut that shit out. Then I realised it was me. Miraculously, it worked, and the thick, oppressive darkness abated into commonplace shabby blues and greys of your everyday dark._

_The poor girl standing between Ann and me collapsed to her knees. She reached out to me, whimpering with terror. When I saw it, I stepped back. I saw black tendrils coiled around her arms, like those damn roses around the house. They wrapped and twisted themselves around her frame at an alarming speed._

_The whimpering stopped._

_I was alone with Ann._

_That was the moment I saw that I had to fix the particular problem that was my daughter._

_The clarity of that realisation took my breath away.”_

  
  


Tim reached out and paused the recording once again and it was only when he saw his hand he realised it was shaking. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever heard it just… it was always strange when a person he knew, however briefly, got involved.

“Do you think any of this could be true?”

“It’s not hard to believe awful things. Miracles are harder to come by.” Tim leaned forward in his seat, looking at his hands, joined at the table. “I imagine Ms… the statement giver believes this version of events, but that doesn’t necessarily make it true. To be frank with you, boss, I talked to Andy, and I listened to this woman’s statement, and I know exactly which one of them two scares me more.”

“Another interview might be enlightening.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jon, I can’t just waltz in, like, hey, do you have any traumatic memories from around five years ago? Who does that?”

“We do that, Tim. But I suppose there are steps that can be taken before resorting to… extreme measures, such as this. I’m not sure how to approach, well, any of this, really. Supposing you’re right and Ms Vega’s statement has something left to be desired, factuality-wise.” Jon was pulling all of that out of his ass. Tim felt it in his bones.

“The person I talked to was very much alive but that’s about all I can give you. Maybe you could ask your lady detective friend-”

“ _Tim_.”

“- about missing people that fit the profile of Vega’s au pairs. When people just vanish, someone… someone should miss them, right? It’s not much, but it’s a place to start.”

“No, wait, this is a good idea.”

“I didn’t get here on being handsome. I tried to, but Elias insisted a selfie didn’t count as a CV.” He glanced at the recorder with something akin to suspicion and he’d swear the machine returned the look. Smugly. He cleared his throat and made a dismissive gesture towards it. “We should probably finish listening to this before we do anything, though.”

For a second it looked as if Jon sighed in relief. Tim knew that Sasha had this little nervous habit of watching the clock. If she saw any clock and it displayed that it was any hour and fifty-nine minutes, she’d watch, transfixed, until the minute passed. It was always the same. She’d hardly pay attention to her surroundings and then there would be that soft exhale. It had been a while since he had seen her do that, if it was her at all. The longer he thought about it, the less certain he felt. Anyway, it was the same with Jon. He had noticed before it was next to useless to try and talk to him when he was in the middle of a recording, that is, if Tim needed him to remember what they were talking about.

It was as if he heard things on those tapes that nobody else did.

Jon reached out and pressed the button to resume. Then, several things happened at once. Tim heard a loud crack coming from above, then several more cracks and bangs from other parts of the room. He ducked under the table, but even so he felt a piece of glass graze his hand. It was cold. Darkness engulfed them both. Something fell to the floor, not far from him. Probably Jon’s cane.

“You all right, boss?”

“… yes. Yes, I think so.” Silence. “You?”

“I’m fine as hell, haven’t you noticed?”

He couldn’t see Jon’s eye-roll, but he could imagine it easily.

“I take that as a yes.”

  
  


  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


Tim escorted the archivist out of the room, keeping one hand on the wall for guidance. The hall outside was dark too and, instinctively, his grip on Jon’s arm tightened. For a moment, he thought he heard a sound coming from the room they’d just left.

A regular, echoing rhythm, like the beating of a monstrous heart.

He turned towards the sound, feeling a slight pull to follow the rhythm, but the warm weight of Jon leaning against his side kept him grounded.

Together, they stumbled towards the break room, guided by Elias’ voice.

“I hate this bloody place, shove that vintage charm up your balls, Peter. Either send an actually decent electrician here for once or I’ll drag your bootlicker arse to an anime convention, I swear to god this isn’t a threat, you rantallion. You wet saltine. You Disney live-action adaptation of a human being. You absolute waste of imagery! I _will_ get your ship in the divorce settlement, don’t think I-”

The lights came back on.

“-never mind, it seems it was just a power outage. Love you. Bye.”

  
  



	3. Season 3

No way around it. What Tim had done was petty. And the worst of it all was that nobody would notice. Jon pretty much vanished. Martin was spreading himself thin enough to be transparent trying to pick up the slack. And Sasha… well, he hoped she wouldn’t judge him too harshly if she were still there.

He stole a tape. It wasn’t planned, no, but when he noticed it in a pile of other tapes, he remembered they never made it to the end of Jennifer Vega’s statement and slipped it into his pocket without thinking. He’d finish it and Jon wouldn’t. That alone brought him a small amount of satisfaction, even if tinted with bitterness, like everything the shadows of The Magnus Institute touched.

Sure, there was the written version of the statement, but _someone_ had used stapler on it and the statement acquired a constellation of rusty patches, so nobody wanted to risk damaging it even more by handling it.

The old grey tape-recorder, a remnant of his teenage years, was buried under a thick layer of dust and for a moment Tim worried it wouldn’t work when he plugged it in.

“ _That was the moment I saw that I had to fix the particular problem that was my daughter._

_The clarity of that realisation took my breath away.”_

Once again it caught him off-guard how much the woman’s voice resembled that of her daughter. Jennifer’s was slightly deeper, but it had the same whispery quality, as if she wasn’t used to speaking aloud. He did manage to find out that there were several reports of missing au pairs from around the time frame suggested in the statement, but that by itself wasn’t enough to confirm her version of the story. Knowing what he knew now, anything could’ve happened to those young women – natural, supernatural, or plainly fucked up.

“ _And then you killed your daughter?”_

“ _No, not immediately. I didn’t know what I was against. All I knew was that she was in the centre of this vortex and at that time it seemed more reasonable to act in a way that wouldn’t arouse her suspicion. That part wasn’t even all that difficult. The child was a… somnambulist. That’s the only way I can describe it. She seemed to look at her own life with only the bare minimum of polite interest. Still, I wanted to go about this as humanely as possible.”_

Gertrude coughed and Tim would swear she was trying to conceal a snort and he couldn’t but agree. The statement giver was flat-out talking about that time she murdered her child in the same tone other people would use to explain why they started recycling.

He paused the recording and went to the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. No way he’d be listening to the rest of this sober. It was an uncharacteristically warm and sunny day and sunlight poured in through the windows in his living room, painting everything in a golden glow that just didn’t go at all with how rotten he’d been feeling the past few weeks. He sat on the couch with his drink, staring at the wall for several minutes before he realised the record was still paused.

“ _I did a lot of research on poisons, though mostly I’ve learnt that most things are less toxic than I assumed. Oh, and that some people are willing to put about anything through their digestive tract. By the time I settled on the method, it was December, close to Ann’s birthday, so I thought to myself – why not? I wanted to make the last day good. I owed her that much, I suppose._

_You know, once I knew her expiration date, I could almost like her.”_

“ _What did you choose?”_

“ _That’s what interests you? Do you want to see the receipts, too?”_

There was faint rustling of paper coming from the recording. God, she really produced them. Idly, he wondered if he’d find copies somewhere in the archives if he tried. If trying made any difference. If he felt like trying to try.

“ _That’s an… interesting choice.”_

“ _I wanted to be sure. It was the nicest birthday party we had since she was a toddler. Mind you, we had nobody to invite, but for the first time in a long time I wished it wasn’t that way. Of course, lights had to stay off, but I put some of those glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and I think it looks quite pretty. They’re still there. Ann didn’t seem to mind them much. There was Black Forest gateau, chocolate fondue, cheese crackers, and enough strawberry milkshake to drown her, if it came down to that… that, that last thing was a joke.”_

“ _Are you sure?”_

“ _Nothing grows properly in winter, nothing other than resentment, but I ordered some hothouse roses, since Ann liked them so much. The moment I brought them into the house, their fragrance changed. It became too heavy, cloying, that kind of sweetness that clings to your skin and poisons your sweat until you can’t tell where the smell ends and you begin. She was delighted. I handed her the bouquet, and told her to get them some water._

_She pricked her finger on a thorn the florist forgot to remove.”_

“ _Did she bleed?”_

“ _Yes._

_I don’t remember much from the party itself. I know she unwrapped her gifts, and I know that we had cake, and I know there was music, and I know that she was smiling. But all I could think of was what I had to do._

_I told her that she was almost an adult, and that we could have a cocktail to celebrate, if she promised not to tell. Of course, she promised._

_I never let her have alcohol before, and I’m fairly sure she had no opportunities to try it on her own, so it was a reasonable assumption that she wouldn’t notice there was anything off about the taste._

_It’s strange._

_When I handed her the glass, a feeling came over me. Suddenly, I was certain she knew what I put into the drink. She held the glass in both hands, just… watching me. For a moment, I forgot to breathe._

_She scrunched her nose at the taste, but drained the glass anyway, and didn’t even flinch._

_I told you. She wanted me to do it.”_

Tim looked down at the bottle in his hand, as if seeing it for the first time. It didn’t look as appealing as it had a few minutes ago. He took a sip to see if that could change his mind, but he almost spat it out again. Nope. It tasted like dishwater. Many things tasted that way lately.

“ _She went to bed soon after, complaining of a headache. I told her it’s just that she’s not used to alcohol, and gave her a couple of sleeping pills. Then I just sat in the living room, and watched the telly. I had to turn the volume up a couple of times._

_I didn’t go into her room until the next day. You know what’s the first thing I did? I opened the windows. The white winter light streamed in, painting everything white, and grey, and blue, and sharp._

_Ann was in her bed, but didn’t even twitch when the light touched her. Obviously._

_She was not sleeping._

_I sat down on the edge of the bed, just watching her. I’d never seen my daughter before. Not… not really, you know? She was so beautiful that if I didn’t kill her, someone else would, eventually. After so many years in the dark, her skin was so translucent I could see the fine blue veins underneath in some spots. Looking at her like that, I struggled to believe she was ever alive. I’d sooner accept she was only an invention of darkness._

_Then she opened her eyes._

_There is an intruder in my home. They wear my daughter’s face, and they speak in her voice. They act like her, and they respond to her name. They don’t seem hostile, but every night I lie with my eyes wide open, because the noise keeps me awake._

_A regular, echoing rhythm, like the beating of a monstrous heart._

_It’s getting louder._

_I need help.”_

“ _Statement ends.”_

Tim didn’t move, trying to wrap his head around what he’d just heard. The worst part was that he couldn’t tell how many monsters were in that story. When he talked to Andromeda Vega, she mentioned her mother had passed away, and after hearing all of that it seemed more important than before to find out how. He still had a couple of passwords to places he had no business snooping at.

With a sigh, he got off the couch to fetch his laptop and see what more he could find.

Then Gertrude’s voice sounded once more, and, though he wouldn’t admit it, it startled him.

“ _Supplemental: The problem with the Dark is that it is an incredibly persistent entity. Darkness is, after all, the default state._

_Now_ _I’m finally able to test a little… theory of mine, about light_ in potentia _. I returned with Mrs Jennifer Vega to her home, and together we’ve buried lumps of coal under her rose bushes and under the doorstep. At the risk of oversimplifying it, coal could be considered fossilised sunlight. Light that can’t be extinguished._

_Only time will tell whether_ _it is_ _enough to make any difference. I strongly recommend monitoring further developments_ _in the Vega house, Belgravia_ _._

_End supplemental.”_

Tim took out the cassette and put it back into its case. He’d heard enough. He opened the laptop, trying not to look at the sticker next to the touchpad. A little yellow butterfly. Sasha had given it to him. Or at least, he hoped it was Sasha.

Finding info on Mrs Jennifer Vega was easy. No picture, unfortunately. Tim kind of wanted to know what she looked like – put a face to the voice. Broke her neck on the stairs during a power outage on her birthday, leaving behind a daughter just old enough to inherit the estate.

An accident, nothing more.

He didn’t even realise the sun had set until he closed the laptop. The night took over when he wasn’t looking, drowning out the unfeeling sunlight under blue, velvety shadows. Tim didn’t know if it was because he didn’t believe any sentient dark had it out for him, or because he was just so fucking tired, but he welcomed the reprieve, temporary as it was.

The next day, Jon returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it to the end, you're awesome! Come visit me on  tumblr  ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far! I'm c o n s i d e r i n g making this a two-parter, because I have another statement related to the Vegas, but... we'll see. 
> 
> Big thanks to my dear Chen, who drew an absolutely beautiful Ms Andy Vega. Check it out here: https://chenpath-art.tumblr.com/post/190516425348/the-dark-wife-nohrianxscum-recommended-the


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